Pearls and Politics
by Hahren Jezek
Summary: Sent to Sanga at a young age to pay off her family's debt by working as a maid, Liza's life changes over the years and politics lead her to being thrust into The Pearl's famous occupation for pretty young girls. Cursed with her looks and mild manners, Liza becomes a favorite among several different men, each of whom has different plans for her. Teagan Elizabeth (OC)
1. Prologue

**A/N – This Mini-series is rated M in some instances for graphic descriptions of sexual scenarios, violence, sexual violence, under-aged sex, and other gross stuff. If you don't want to read that sort of thing, do not continue. If you opt to continue, you take full responsibility for any bad feelies you experience, and agree not to pitch a fit. This fic is set before and during Origins events.**

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Sanga crossed her arms under her chest as the messenger led in the peasant girl. She was nothing but a child, and probably wouldn't even start her menses for several more years. It didn't matter—the only thing she would be doing was scrubbing floors and washing out all of the linens. Sanga was an honest woman, even if her profession said otherwise. The girl kept her head down and her eyes lowered as she walked. Elizabeth—if Sanga was even remembering her name correctly—seemed nervous and flighty, but perhaps that was a good thing. The less attention she drew to herself, the better.

"Come here, Child, and take those muddy shoes off before you track it all over my clean floors," Sanga called out to her, stepping forward and holding out one of her hands. To her credit, the girl moved quickly when spoken to. Perhaps her father hadn't slacked on discipline, as most of the parents within Denerim had. That boded well for their arrangement.

"Where would you like me to put my things, Mistress?" Elizabeth murmured, looking up at Sanga, refusing to turn her eyes towards any of The Pearl's patrons. Smart girl, Sanga mused. Rather than pursing her lips—something that could cause wrinkles with age—Sanga smiled down at the blonde girl, reaching her hand out to grip her chin, tipping it up and examining her features without a word for several moments. Her touch made Elizabeth flinch, despite how gentle her hands were.

"Pretty thing, your hair's a mess, cheeks with dirt on them, and your stockings and dress…" Sanga trailed off, feeling sympathetic to the girl's fatal condition of poverty. She was simple and pretty, but Sanga had no doubts that with a little bit of care and instruction from herself or her girls, Elizabeth could be turned into a maid that held herself with as much grace and beauty as a noble lady—and that was what Sanga valued in her institution. Elizabeth would be clean and pretty, even as she worked and scrubbed.

"I can sew, but not very well—I could at least fix the tears," Elizabeth offered meekly, extending a little foot to show the frayed and torn ends of her dress, likely from the long journey from the outskirts of Lothering to Denerim.

"Never your mind on that, Child, I'll have new pretty gowns for you by tomorrow. Now then, Earic!" Sanga called out, waving one of the male workers at The Pearl over to them, "Take her to the dorms, will you? And have Neria run her a nice warm bath. I want all of the tangles out of her hair and the muck scrubbed off of her. Just throw her old clothes away, they won't do," Sanga spoke quickly, one of her hands resting on Earic's shoulder to keep his attention, not that she needed the help.

All of her workers knew that their livelihood depended on Sanga, and all of them knew that she was a fair woman in what she asked of them. None of them balked at her requests.

"Yes, Mistress," Earic nodded, then flicked his eyes down to the travel-worn girl child that stood beside the proprietor, "Come along, Sweet Heart, you must be very tired," he cooed. Under his sweet voice and gentle smiles, Sanga watched as Elizabeth relaxed and reached out for his hand, resigned to being led away to the start of her new life. Reaching up to adjust the fanciful ties and ribbons of her gowns, Sanga's attention wavered and drifted once the two figures left to the other room. The dorms were not glamorous; all of the workers shared rooms together. It helped them to gossip to each other each night and relieve stress. She would either settle in and eventually come to feel at home, or she wouldn't.

Her life never had, and likely never would be up to her.

It was the sad fate of women in Thedas.

Stepping over lightly, Sanga stooped to pick up the muddy, worn boots with two of her fingers, her dark brows arching in a strained and disgusted expression. Without a word of her intent, she stepped to the door of her prestigious establishment, opened it, and tossed the shoes all the way to the other side of the street.

"Mistress, the Rivaini's back, and she's asking for a bigger cock than the last time," one of the older workers called out, an amused smirk on her face.

Steeling herself for the encounter with the uncouth pirate woman, Sanga drew in a deep breath and forced a pretty smile, stepping off to her preferred table, muttering as she went.

"At this rate, I'll have to employ ox men."


	2. Chapter One: Mud on Her Heart

**A/N - It's a clean chapter, not to worry. At the end, there is a somewhat graphic reference to the aftermath of rape. There's the warning. Other than that, enjoy.**

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**Chapter One: Mud on Her Heart**

"Lizzie! Where's the linens for the third room?" Earic poked his head through the doorway, looking exasperated and more than a little panicked, "You know the sort of fit Sanga will throw if all rooms aren't operable," he warned her.

Elizabeth tipped her head up from the scrubbing board, beads of sweat formed on her brow. She hadn't bothered getting dressed from the night before, and kneeled there in her night clothes, scrawny arms scrubbing away to try and get the stains of a variety of bodily fluids out of the sheets—Sanga might have preferred her to get dressed earlier, but it wasn't as though Elizabeth washed sheets on display for all of Ferelden. Shaking her head, Elizabeth kept grinding the sheets against the washboard, looking down from Earic as she spoke.

"If the Mistress wants them with stains on them, she can have them back right now, otherwise, I need more time, and more soap," the young girl went back to her task, avoiding eye contact in case there was any disapproval waiting for her. Thankfully, the feeling of family that permeated through every worker at The Pearl spared her from that much.

"Guess in the end, it's her fault, letting groups go in like that," Earic muttered, shaking his head and starting to turn away, "I'll fetch you more soap!" he called over his shoulder.

It had been three years since she had first come to The Pearl and Sanga's care, and Elizabeth had grown to a lovely young girl. Still no more than twelve years old, and without a single mense to speak of, she kept her distance from the patrons of The Pearl as much as she could. It frustrated Sanga when she had to reprimand grabbing hands and decline offers to buy Elizabeth's time for a few hours. Despite the frustration, Sanga remained more a mother to Elizabeth than any other woman had been. She saw her fed, bathed, and clothed each day, remarking that the baths were especially important, as they would delay the aging process and keep her pretty—unlike the hags that sat like fattened cows inside of their houses, losing their husbands love to some newer and prettier young thing that trotted beneath their nose.

Though Sanga ensured that her education and looks rivaled that of a girl of noble birth, Elizabeth's current tasks were nothing more than that of a scullery maid. She cleaned sheets, scrubbed floors, washed dishes, and when she had the time, she assisted in preparing meals. Her days began with awakening well before the sun broke over the coastline, crawling from her bed and helping the other women dress. She fixed their hair into neat braids and buns as they gossiped amongst each other. Lately, the topics had been centered around the Arl of Denerim's son. According to rumor, he was a right shit.

It was enough to make Elizabeth dislike him before she had even set eyes upon him.

After the girls were dressed and prettied up, Elizabeth fetched fresh washing water—a task that usually took at least an hour of walking to and from the better of three wells in the dock district. Sometimes the sailors harassed her, but most of the time the overseers kept them too busy breaking their backs heaving heavy crates and barrels from the ships docked at the decks. It was easy to ignore them with a bit of practice, and with three years of practice tucked in her stockings, Elizabeth simply tipped up her chin and kept moving, hauling the bucket of water back to the tub in the back rooms of The Pearl, always using the servant's entrance to avoid disturbing any of the clients and their business with The Pearl's workers.

Once the tub was filled with water, the seemingly endless task of scrubbing away the soiled sheets from the day before began. Through the first year, Elizabeth's arms had burned as though the mage worker Neria had set them on fire, and sometimes, she was convinced that that was exactly what Neria had done. When she had first confronted the mischievous elf with her childish worries, Neria had tipped her head back and laughed, stooping over to kiss Elizabeth's forehead, hugging the little girl and telling her that she had a lot of spells to cast in the day—but the burns of hard work were not at all among them.

After so many years of daily scrubbing, Elizabeth's arms had been hardened to the task, and while her femininity kept the growth of distinct muscles at bay, the thin limbs grew solid and dense underneath pale flesh, and held a strength that only a common borne girl would ever know. Now, at twelve years, she knew better than to complain to any of the other workers, and especially to Sanga.

This morning's tasks had gone by relatively quickly, and with the last and worst of the sheets finally scrubbed clean, Elizabeth was able to rock back on her rear and heave a sigh of relief. Judging from the sounds outside, The Pearl already had its usual sort of customers. Sailors came in droves once their work had finished, and with the amount of coin that they brought to The Pearl, no one ever complained—except for Neria, when she found herself healing odd rashes and burning sensations in the most private of places. Bundling up the wet sheets in her arms, Elizabeth squeezed the water from them, wringing the thin fabric out into the tub of water that was a far cry from the clear pool it had been at the start of the morning.

Stretching her legs out as she stood, Elizabeth held the bedding at an arm's length from herself to avoid getting her shift any wetter than it already was. Walking it across the washing corner of the little room, she draped it in halves over the line that extended from one wall to the other. With any luck, the fire and sunlight from the open window would have it mostly dry before midday, when more and more patrons showed themselves. At the very least, it wasn't a royal holiday. That usually had Sanga at her wit's end, barking orders behind closed doors to have The Pearl made fit for nobles and more tables and seating brought out.

If word from Sanga's contact within the Royal Palace was anything to go by, however—and it usually was—it wouldn't be long before the King called every noble lord in the country for a Lands Meet. No one knew what it was about—King Cailin and his advisors had been extraordinarily careful not to say anything unless they knew even the servant's corridors were cleared and free of eavesdroppers.

Not concerned nearly as much as she should have been with political games, Elizabeth focused mostly on the fact that this meant that more nobles would show themselves, and the minor noblemen would come around to try and relieve the ache they felt with their unhappy marriages—and Sanga, dear Sanga, would be in an uproar.

Turning from the washroom, Elizabeth let her hair down from the messy bun she had kept it in and shook her head from side to side, blonde tresses falling down to the middle of her back. Hair in Ferelden had become something of a code over the last two decades, with long, loose tresses symbolizing an unmarried girl, and locks that were braided and bound up meant to look elsewhere, as the woman was married and claimed. Sanga and the other women of The Pearl liked Elizabeth's hair long and clean, and with as much as they fussed over it and cared for her, the young girl had begun to like it, as well.

Making her way down the narrow hall to the dorm rooms where bunk after bunk were stacked and lined up all throughout the rooms, with dressers and vanities lining the walls, Elizabeth thought of the chores she still had yet to complete that day. There was scrubbing the floors, sweeping out the dust from tiny crannies, washing the dishes, watering the plants, and helping with supper. She dressed herself while she thought, slipping herself into the pretty gowns Sanga had purchased for her. For the spring, they were pastel colors, with silks straight from orlais and beadwork from Antiva. Why Sanga went to such expenses for her, Elizabeth still hadn't figured out, but she liked the gowns and colors. Picking out a white and blue dress, she slipped herself into the flower scented fabric, brushing off the petals that had been tucked in the folds every night for the past week.

Slipping her feet inside of simple slippers, Elizabeth set about braiding the locks on either side of her face with an expert dexterity, tying them together behind her head with a slim ribbon, bright pink against pale wheat. Cleaned up and prettied sufficiently enough for Sanga's high-class standards, Elizabeth gathered up her scrubbing brush and several old rags. If the sailors were already here, that meant that there was likely already vomit on the floor somewhere, or at the very least ale that had been sloshed out of tankards. Perhaps mud had gotten on the floor, or wet sand tracked in from the docks.

Sanga hated dirt and grime more than vomit.

It was another peculiar oddity of hers.

Leaving the dorm room, Elizabeth walked back down the hallway, entering the main waiting and dining area. Sanga stood near the entryway, overseeing the men who ate food freshly prepared that morning

"Beth, Darling, do come here," Sanga called out in her usual lilting tones. Her accent was just foreign enough to be intriguing, but not so foreign as to cause suspicion or warrant any upset with Ferelden Countrymen. Elizabeth dipped her head and hurried over, making sure to maintain her posture. In another life, she was sure that Sanga had been a nanny for noble ladies, with how particular she was on manners, looks, and bearing.

"The sheets are all washed and the last of them are on the lines, I don't think that set can take much more, would you like me to go to town and purchase a new set?" Elizabeth kept her chin down even as her eyes drifted up to look at Sanga and gauge her current emotional state. Sanga's face never wrinkled. It never changed from a pleasant expression, but those who spent each day and night around her, including Elizabeth, had learned to decipher the delicate micro-aggressions. It was a skill as needed as the ability to walk.

"Not today, Girl, just look at the muck they've tracked in," Sanga fretted, pushing at the center of Elizabeth's back to get her moving in the right direction. "The Arl's son is on his way, and I can't have his boots getting messed on my doorstep—the shit he is, he may force me to get him a new pair, straight from Orlais," Sanga fussed, moving her hands to run her fingers through Elizabeth's hair to still the miniscule fly-aways that had sprouted up with the brief walk from the dorm room to the entryway.

"I'll get it cleaned up, Mistress, don't worry," Elizabeth promised her, arching her back and straining forward to get away from the fussing hands and off to her task. When Sanga said that they had tracked mud and muck inside of The Pearl, she hadn't been kidding or making a dragon out of a lizard. The entire entryway seemed coated in a layer of grime thick enough for Elizabeth to consider calling it sludge. Her lips puckered together as she tried to consider where to start. To spare her gowns from stains, she chose the nearest that she could reach, opting to simply scrub it all out the door if she could manage it.

As it hadn't been sitting for very long, the grime came away quickly with Elizabeth's rough heaving, and with three years of experience and a watchful eye, she managed to spare the expensive gowns from any of the mess.

She made her way to the door, scrubbing and cleaning as she went, and soon enough, the floors were left with a glistening shine in her wake. Sanga's shoulders began to relax from their tensed position, and the cleaner the entryway became, the less she looked in Elizabeth's direction. Taking that as a sign that her handiwork was adequate and appreciated, Elizabeth simply continued her scrubbing, and just as the floors were clean, she paused to look back over her shoulder at Sanga, seeing her off at a patron's table, leaning over and presenting a bosom that no man could touch while they spoke in low tones about the sort of girl he fancied for the evening.

The door in front of her opened with a flourish, and Elizabeth stumbled backwards, narrowly avoiding being hit full in the face with it as she crawled backwards on her hands and knees, heart racing at the sudden intrusion.

"Where's that damned bitch hiding at? I need a woman!" the man was finely dressed, but he stank of fine wines and a foul attitude. He tossed his head like a rowdy young horse, striding forward not with purpose, but with boldness. "Sanga!" He bellowed, pausing and looking back at the girl on the floor. Vaughn made no secret that he loved women, that was only natural for a man. What he hid from most was the fact that he loved his women most when they were frightened, on the ground, and staring up at him.

Elizabeth immediately caught his eye.

Quickly standing up, the young girl lowered her head and eyes and briskly walked into the main dining and waiting area of The Pearl, shooting a panicked look to Sanga, who looked both parts furious and anxious at the coming encounter with the Arl's infamous son.

"Beth, come here, Darling," Sanga hissed, all the while keeping a smile on her face.

Ever obedient, Elizabeth crept over to her Mistress, waiting for further instructions.

"Take Neria and go back to your beds. Stay there until I come for you," Sanga whispered, pursing her lips together, too anxious to worry about wrinkles in the moment. Sending Elizabeth off with an affectionate pat, Sanga took her time in walking over to Vaughn in the first waiting room.

Sensing a different sort of urgency, Elizabeth hurried off into the other dining room, hearing Vaughn's raised voice as he greeted Sanga with mocking manners. Cringing internally, knowing full well that Sanga's usual way of handling irate customers would never pass with an Arl's son, Elizabeth endeavored to do as her Mistress had told her to as quickly as possible in an effort to make everything easier on the poor woman.

"Neria?" she called in a gentle voice, looking around the mostly empty room to try and spot the elf. The second dining room was only ever used for private parties, or if the main room became too full, as it often did when multiple ships were docked and in the process or either loading or unloading. Neria had spent her morning in the second room, cleaning the dust from the décor, airing out the curtains, and making it ready for the nobles that arrived earlier than the others. Elizabeth expected to find her still dusting and hustling about, perhaps using her magic to help her in the act.

Neria wasn't cleaning.

Elizabeth's brow furrowed, and she slowly made her way over to the corner table, bending at the waist to peer underneath it. Neria was huddled beneath it, sweating and shaking, her eyes widened with panic as they stared behind Elizabeth at the door that led to the main room, and to the owner of the loud voice that carried even through the walls.

"He's here, he's out there?" Neria stuttered out in a whisper, her ring-covered hands reaching up to grab onto the long ears that poked out of her hair, tugging them down.

"He…?" Elizabeth blinked, looking behind her at the door before nodding slowly, "The Arl's son? Yes, he's here… Sanga's speaking with him right now," the blonde girl murmured, crouching down and leaning underneath the table. "Neria? Is everything alright? Sanga wants me to take you to our beds, we're supposed to stay there…" Elizabeth reached out a hand, offering it to the older girl to grip. Within half a moment, the elf's hand gripped her own as though she feared she might blow away if she didn't cling tightly enough.

An understanding known only between women crept into Elizabeth's bones, and she imagined that it felt just the same as the sludge she had scrubbed off of the floors. Filthy, dirty, and permeating throughout her entire being. A memory, an old, fleeting memory came to her then, something that she had never thought much of at the time. She had been nine years old, still new at The Pearl, and Neria had fled one of the suite's without so much as a sheet wrapped around her. Her hair had been messy and wild, and bruises were lining her arms, face, neck, and legs—and there had been blood.

It dripped from both her sex as well as her rear. Back then, Elizabeth had thought it was simply an accident with her menses, and a rough client. Some of the girl's specialized in handling rough clients with ease, but none of them worked while they were mensing.

Years later, seeing her friend cowering underneath the table at nothing more than the sound of the young lord's voice, Elizabeth understood.

"Come on, Neria, we'll go through the window and around to the back; he won't see you, he won't even know that you're here," Elizabeth promised her, pulling on Neria's wrist to get her out from under the table and into her embrace. The elf fell into it gratefully, stifling her terrified sobs in Elizabeth's shoulder.

"Let's go, we'll be safe," Elizabeth urged her, keeping her arm around Neria's trim waist as though she were a knight leading his lady. The largest of the windows was still a tight fit for the two young ladies, but given Neria's slight size and Elizabeth's young age, they managed it without any tears in their dresses or scrapes on their elbows.

"I can't do it again, I told Sanga I can't," Neria stammered, bringing one of her hands up to bite down on her knuckles to try and shush herself and soothe her nerves.

"No one is going to make you, Neria, Sanga's a good woman," Elizabeth murmured as they walked the familiar path around the back alley of The Pearl, ignoring the old crone that squatted at the other side of the alley, playing with pebbles and bird bones. "I promise that I won't let anything happen to you." The two girls slipped unseen into the dorm room, taking one of the blankets and pinning it under the mattress of the top bunk, hiding themselves away behind it on the bottom one, passing the next hour brushing each other's hair.

And, unlike every man who had made the same promise to a woman—Elizabeth kept her word, even when it cost her dearly.


	3. Chapter Two: Orlesian Toast

**A/N - Another clean chapter! We're on a roll, here, but sadly, that might change next time. If this Teagan doesn't seem as responsible as the one in-game, that was the intent. The goal for this is for him to grow in the brief time between now and the events of origins, which, with this timeline, will be happening in a few months. Anyway, enjoy, reviews are wonderful and encouraging.**

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Unlike most younger siblings, Teagan was perfectly happy that he wasn't firstborn. Being a bann, a minor noble of a mostly forgotten little township tucked away in Redcliffe's shadow, was hard enough. He had managed—he was a smart man, or at the very least, he held a great deal of common sense, and a sense of honor that drove him to do what he could for the people that he was in charge of. For that, he was well liked and respected. His township was prosperous, and his people never went hungry, not even during the worst of famines.

Despite his success in running his part of the bannorn, however, Teagan, along with every other nobleman, was required to attend the Landsmeets whenever they were called.

The Teyrns and Arls suffered the worst of it, with as much weighted responsibilities as they held. Nobles that were smaller, like Bann Teagan, were able to coast by during political schemes and arguments, unaffected by one lord's jealous rages or another's paranoid impulses. Even better—he wasn't expected to say anything.

His older brother had gone grey in the hair as nothing more than a young man. His life had been turned on its head, and the only thing he seemed to be able to claim for himself was a wife that brought him more trouble than good fortune, and a boy that remained… odd. In his thirties, Teagan didn't have a single spec of grey in his hair, and his body hadn't been racked with worry and bent to the figure of an old man. He was able to spend his days hunting in the forests, riding across his lands, and if he became bored enough—he might even go fishing.

As far as he could tell, anyone who wanted to be one of the head noblemen of Ferelden was either dim-witted or sick somewhere inside of their head.

Sitting inside the grand royal hall, Teagan lowered his head into the crook of his elbow, nestling his forehead down into the fine silks he had managed to wiggle his way into for all of the pomp and prestige. Everyone was shouting about something, carrying on about the evils of Orlais—a bitter grudge that everyone refused to let go of. As much as he hated the flitting and fluttering of every man and woman in Orlais, he didn't believe that if Ferelden so much as spoke about trade agreements that they would fall into servitude just the same as they had before. It was ignorant.

"Come on, come on…" Teagan mumbled, bringing his head up and cupping his chin in the palm of his hand, if only to look out at the shadows falling across the walls. The meeting had to end soon, the sunlight could barely get through the windows with how low it had sunk! Glancing over his shoulder, Teagan's fingers picked at the beard growth he had been supporting for the last few weeks. The servant's passage wasn't more than fifteen paces behind him. If he chose a moment when they were in the heat of discussion (Orlais? An alliance? Some new evil in the South?), he could slip away before they noticed him. Swallowing and arching his brows, Teagan licked his lips and turned in his seat, one hand still resting on the railing in front of him.

"And you actually trust these Wardens? I have farmers in my arling that have the wilds knocking on their doorsteps, and none of them have reported any strange creatures or 'darkspawn,'" an irate voice rang out higher than the other, rough and coarse.

Rising to his feet, Teagan stepped over to the door as the arguing began again, each lord fighting to be heard above the other. The Empress of Orlais had once commented that Fereldens were constantly on the verge of reverting back to Barbarism at any moment—and it was times like this that Teagan was inclined to agree. Whatever this threat was, Teagan would believe it when it came from a source more credible than a young man with a fancy for fantasy and legends, Maker bless his soul. King Cailin was a good man, but still a young one, and brash impulses and a thirst for adventure often led him to veering off track.

If it wasn't for the Queen, Teagan had his doubts that Ferelden would be doing as well as it was. Amongst the lords and ladies, there was no doubt as to who actually ran Ferelden. Cailin was a figurehead for the people, a man with the best of intentions and a heart large enough to feel for the lowliest of commoners, but he had no interest in business. Anora, it seemed, was his exact opposite, and exactly what Ferelden had needed.

Slipping out the door and into the servant's passageway, Teagan nearly ran headlong into an elf maid that was eavesdropping, trying to pick what valuable information she could out of all of the yelling. Clapping her hand over her mouth, she recoiled from Teagan and quickly turned around, darting through the dimly lit passageways. Teagan pressed his lips together and shook his head, slumping off in the same direction, trying to remember which path he had taken the last time he had slipped out of a landsmeet when things had grown particularly tedious. Opting to go the opposite direction the servant had taken, Teagan resolved to just walk until he came upon something else. It was a method that had served him well in the past, and besides—it wasn't as though anyone was expecting him anywhere any time soon.

The servants here kept their corridors and passageways almost as clean as they kept the rest of the palace: likely to help aide them in speedy getaways from spying on whatever lord someone wanted dead or humiliated. They were not so subtle as they were in other countries. Even during his time in the Free Marches as a youth, Teagan had watched politics at play. It was deadly and foul, and it made him ache for the blunt honesty of Ferelden. Honor was valued above all else in his country, and honor was a concept that he could understand. Commoners understood it just as well, and with nobles focused on that instead of other less than relevant things, it had a tendency to bridge the gap between social circles.

After roughly ten minutes, Teagan found himself emerging within one of the small reading rooms which were, thankfully, unoccupied at the time of his entrance. Sighing with relief, welcoming the quiet like a warm blanket, Teagan slumped in one of the chairs, his eyes turning to look out of a narrow window. The city of Denerim greeted him as though he hadn't been away for several years, presenting the same view as it always did. Citizens ambled about, distinctly unaware of the changes to their lives that this landsmeet entailed. Washer women hung clothes out on lines to dry, stray dogs and small children sprinted through the streets, and at the docks, sailors unloaded heavy crates while their captains and merchants barked orders at them from a safe distance.

"He's been seen going to The Pearl over and over, he's not even subtle about it!" a voice carried through the open door from the main hallway. Teagan glanced over in that direction, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. He didn't like eavesdropping, but he liked disturbing conversations even less than that.

"Wicked as that man is, you know he's never going to find a decent woman to marry him. Just as well that he gets his wiles from whores, if you're asking me." This voice belonged to an older woman, and there was a certain grit to her tone not presence in the former voice.

"So all of those rumors are really true?"

The older woman scoffed, and Teagan could imagine the exasperated expression that she might have worn. He could guess who they were talking about. Of the local lords, Vaughn held the worst reputation for his temperament. There were stories, but it was improper to discuss. Most thoughts about the brash teryn's son were communicated with displeased looks and sidelong glances.

"Why don't you find out for yourself if'n you're not taking my word for it? It's not like I'm the one that had to scrub the blood out of the sheets after he had his way with his pick of the serving girls here, Andraste curse that man—he must think that every woman was put on Thedas solely for his loins," the old voice growled out. From the louder noises that followed, Teagan could tell that she was venting her frustration and anger on whatever task she was competing.

Thinking back to the faces that he had seen in the landsmeet, Teagan couldn't help but furrow his brow in confusion. Vaughn hadn't been present. He hadn't heard the young man's voice or seen him slumping in any corner behind his aging father. For a teryn's son, it wasn't exactly acceptable. He was expected to take an active role in politics, whether the matter amused him or not. Tapping a finger against the side of his jaw, Teagan's eyes drifted out to the window again, traveling to the docks once more, and to a familiar building behind it.

The Pearl.

Well, if he was missing the landsmeet, he could at least pretend it was for something more important than his own boredom. Rising to his feet, the minor lord turned and strode through the open door, nodding to the two startled servants that looked up at him, and then glanced at each other.

"Good day," Teagan dipped his head to them, continuing down the hallway before they could make any fuss over him or try to gauge what it was that he had heard from their conversation. Once he was farther down the hallway, he heard the whispering and hissed conversation pick up again behind him, likely with a chiding in it somewhere for not having been quieter while gossiping.

Exiting the royal grounds took almost twice as long as even traveling from Redcliffe to Denerim had. Even still, Teagan kept going, fitted boots crunching against loose cobblestones. Denerim greeted him as it did every Ferelden born citizen—steam rising up from the washer houses, dogs barking wildly as they sprinted through the streets, children screaming just as loudly, and mothers shouting over the top of it all. Drawing in a deep breath, Teagan smiled as a breeze actually made its way through the buildings, strong enough to rustle his hair. The walk to the docks didn't take half as long as getting free from the palace, and to the shame of the palace and the credit of the city, it was about twice as enjoyable.

Before long, The Pearl stood across the street, its entrance remarkably cleaner than the meagre pottery shop next door. Looking between the two of them, Teagan let out a snort of a laugh, eyes rolling. Shrugging his shoulders, the nobleman strode forward, opening the door and stepping inside of the whorehouse. Incense burned, lamps were lit, and sweetly perfumed women and men were leaning over patrons, whispering sweet things and delivering mostly chaste kisses to tempt them.

"Hello Love, and Welcome to The Pearl," Sanga leaned against the archway, one of her hands twirling a loose lock of hair around her fingers, "Not often that we get nobility around here, what can I do for you, My Lord? A private room? The men, the women? Perhaps a little of both?" Her speech was so familiar to her, it must have been scripted at this point.

Clearly she wasn't exactly honest when she said that nobility didn't come around very often.

"I—Well, a drink, for starters," Teagan stuttered, bringing a hand up to run it through his hair. Now that he was here, his entire reason for coming seemed utterly fabricated and quite… stupid. Here to fetch the Arl's son? What self-respecting nobleman would venture to a whorehouse to get involved with business of another noble that wasn't his own? No one would believe it, and then, wasn't it better if they didn't? Teagan's head began to swim as he made his way to the room Sanga led him towards. It was considerably more decorated than the o thers, and it felt almost like a luncheon room at his estates.

"I'll send the girl along to get your preferences in a moment… for the drinks, of course," Sanga forced a practiced giggle, turning from him to return to her usual position. As she turned, Teagan was sure that he saw her face crinkle in what he imagined was exasperation. How many men like him came here each day, wanting something, but not knowing what?

Swallowing roughly, Teagan folded his hands on the table in front of him, his eyes drifting around the room once more. When the door opened again, Teagan rose to his feet out of habit, turning to look and see who it was, half expecting his older brother and a reprimand, as though they were youths once more.

What he saw shouldn't have surprised him at all.

"I apologize, M'Lord, I didn't mean to startle you," she was young, and if she had been a lord's daughter, she would have been kept locked away in her rooms at this age, for fear of her impending marriage and suitors knocking at the doorstep. The thought made Teagan smile, but it faltered quickly as he realized something else—here, with this life, she would never have such things. The Pearl would be her life, until sickness or age claimed her, as it did every living thing.

"The fault is mine, my mind is… disquiet," Teagan fumbled, seating himself again and trying his best to look away from her, though from all of the faces he had seen in the past month, hers was the most welcoming.

"Oh," she dipped her head, looking conflicted, as though part of her wished to comfort the best way that she could, and the other knew better than to try to bridge the gap between lords and commoners, "I- I wouldn't presume to interfere in the affairs of men, but I do know that the food and drink that we offer is quite good," she smiled again, and it was as though a beam of sunshine glittered straight from her eyes.

Teagan shifted in his seat, eying the girl up and down, feeling more at ease with her gentle demeanor.

"What's your name, Girl?" he asked her, his head tipping as he brought a hand up to pick at the stubble underneath his chin.

"Elizabeth, M'Lord." She stooped into a curtsey fit for a princess, and Teagan had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at the juxtaposition in front of him. Sanga had reason to take pride in her establishment.

"That's a very pretty name, Elizabeth. My name is Te-Thomas," he forced a cough, a wrinkle forming in the middle of his brow, "It's Thomas. I'm very hungry. What do you think I should eat?" he said, smiling back at her as she brought her fingertips up to stifle a giggle at his slip-up. He doubted that he fooled her, but at the very least, if and when someone badgered her for a name of the nobleman that had been there, she could give them something other than the truth and remain honest when she said that it was what she had been told.

"I like our Orlesian toast with a bit of cinnamon and fresh cream, but I understand that it's not a very popular dish here," Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders, lowering her hands to smooth the skirts of her gown, "The cook hardly makes it anymore, except by special request," she seemed disappointed. A twinge of envy sparked in Teagan's chest, and he shifted in his seat. Even when he had been young, there had never been a day when one of his greatest concerns had been whether or not he could have Orlesian toast. She still seemed innocent—a rare find, indeed, for an establishment like The Pearl.

"I see," he murmured, pulling at his stubble thoughtfully, "I think I'd like to have two servings of that, Elizabeth. And something to drink—whatever you'd like to get for me." He smiled at her again, then looked down at his hands, wringing his fingers together anxiously. He had a bad feeling in his heart about the upcoming days, and he knew not why. Redcliffe was as prosperous as ever, the political relations amongst the bannorn were less strenuous than usual, and there hadn't been a bout of plague or fever to speak of all across the country. Ferelden was fine, and surely it would stay that way? They spoke of doom and darkness in the south as though they had been waiting with their thumbs jammed in their puckers for some new evil to fend off. No one was content to simply be happy anymore—everyone had to be a damned hero.

He almost found himself hating them for threatening the peaceful atmosphere, what with nothing but rumors of an old order long banned from Ferelden spreading rumors of whispers from the depths of the earth…

"My Lord? Are you alright?"

A pretty little hand closed over his knuckles, and Teagan looked up into the confused face of the young girl once more, still naïve enough to hold concern for a stranger. His jaw clenched, and an odd stirring in his chest forced him to look away. Whatever father hadn't held onto her had been a fool.

"I apologize, Elizabeth, I don't mean to worry you. Would you sit with me for a while? Your presence lightens my heart… and I doubt I could eat all of this orlesian toast myself," he shot her what he hoped came across as a playful smile, gesturing to the seat across from him. She seemed to hesitate, looking over her shoulder and drawing her lower lip between her teeth before reluctantly sitting down, fussing with hair that she kept loose and free-flowing, its long locks drooping nearly to her hips.

"I suppose I could, if only for a little while, but if Sanga calls me, I have to go immediately," she raised her brows as she looked up at Teagan, assuring him of the severity of this arrangement. Nodding his head, he gestured for her to begin eating, and once she had taken a bite, he stole one, as well.

"You're young to be working here, Elizabeth, don't you have family?" Teagan probed, trying to focus on something other than the troubling matters that the landsmeet had discussed. He hoped that it was simply a plagued chasined that had wandered aimlessly and frightened some poor traveler. Anything was better than the threat of a Blight. Still, at least they had ample warning, if this 'Duncan' was to be trusted… Several months, at the very least, to train men and craft weapons and armor.

"My father had a great debt to Mistress Sanga, this was the only way he could hope to repay it," she paused for several moments, then shrugged, forcing another pretty smile, "I heard that he died of the wasting sickness several years ago. It's sad, but it happens. I'm happy here, and it's not nearly as bad as most would think."

"Oh?" Teagan arched a brow, his head tipping to the side.

"No, not at all. Everyone has been like family, and we all do our part, and Mistress Sanga watches out for all of us. She saw me learned and well-read, and I have a proper meal each day and a bed to call my own. A lot of orphans out there don't have half as much… to be honest, a lot of people in general don't."

Teagan nodded his head, his eyes narrowing as he contemplated this. It seemed fair enough, but to be thrust into the business of flesh and pleasure? A wrinkle formed at the bridge of his nose, and Teagan opened his mouth to prepare to ask another line of questions.

"Ah, there you are, My Darling," Sanga called from the doorway, her expression forever frozen in a mildly pleasant smile, even as her eyes glittered intensely. "Come away, now, Girl, and let the poor man eat, he must be famished," Sanga tittered.

Elizabeth ducked her head down, quickly rising and offering him a curtsey and a nervous sort of smile before she trotted off towards Sanga, slipping by her mistress and off to Andraste only knew where.

"Forgive your girl, Mistress, I held her up needlessly seeking peace of mind," Teagan rushed, fearful of the sweet young girl being reprimanded or punished because of their brief talk.

"Well, Ser, you're in luck, as I've a dozen women highly skilled in granting peace of mind and body—a dozen _grown _women, that you need only ask for. My poor serving girl is run ragged as it is, and I wouldn't have her shouldering that… weighted responsibility, as well," Sanga snipped. Taken aback by the venom in her tone, Teagan merely nodded his head, sitting back in his chair and staring forward at the place that Elizabeth had been sitting in, trying to recall the image of her seated there, happily munching on orlesian toast.

Anything was better than the Blight ahead.


End file.
